


I Let The Seasons Change My Mind

by okaybi



Series: In Our Darkest Hours [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Healing, I am not a psychologist, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Panic Attacks, Post-Break Up, Pre-Slash, Therapy, Tony Stark Deserves Better, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Unhealthy Relationships, he's working on it tho, i'm screaming into the void pals, is anything i write ?, it's probably not noticeable but i want it to be Known, not team Cap friendly, pre ironhusbands, sorry :/ - Freeform, this is likely not how therapy works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaybi/pseuds/okaybi
Summary: Peeks at Tony's life in the six months following the fiasco in Siberia.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - Relationship
Series: In Our Darkest Hours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755412
Comments: 19
Kudos: 390





	I Let The Seasons Change My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> woo a part two! hi again :) if you haven't read part one of the series it might not make much sense. hope you enjoy!
> 
> title is once again from Writer In The Dark by Lorde

Therapy is fine. Really. It’s great, even. Tony can say that it is a completely positive experience for him. 

Except when he has to talk about his trauma or his feelings. Or has to talk in general. 

Okay, therapy sucks. But hey, he’s doing it—at the insistence of Rhodey and Pepper, who thoroughly vetted many therapists before picking out a few for Tony to choose from—twice a week.

His days vary, as he expects they would without the therapy. 

Some days he can’t get out of bed, can’t do anything. Can barely even think, feels like he can’t let himself breathe properly. He doesn’t like himself very much on those days—when does he ever?—but he knows that it happens sometimes. 

Other days he’s fine. Smiling, joking, working, going out. He takes walks in the park with Rhodey and he does experiments with Harley and Peter and he cooks with Vision. Those times are when he feels like he’s himself for the first time in a while.

There are instances where he’s somewhere in between. Where he simply pushes through, it’s not like he’s feeling _bad_. 

Overall, though, therapy isn’t the worst. 

For the first few sessions, Tony mainly snarks and jabs, unwilling to open up. They get past that. He starts with things from ages ago, things he never properly dealt with, but are far removed from the subject of Steve Rogers. 

He talks about Ana and Edwin’s deaths, how he regrets not going to visit more during his college days. He talks about the Ten Rings, Yinsen, and Obie. Aunt Peggy, during one session, steering clear of her connection to Rogers. Pepper dumping him after the Battle of New York and his quick stint through the portal, because she didn’t _get_ it, didn’t understand his desperate need to do something good. These topics hurt like fresh wounds, but they’re safer than his alternative. That said, he’s fairly certain Dr. Ghafa knows exactly what he’s doing. Even so, she doesn’t call him out on it. 

The allowance quells his nerves and replaces it with piles of relief.

***

He’s been going a month and a half when they get into his experience with Rogers.

“Start from the beginning,” Dr. Ghafa says. 

So he does. Reluctantly. Haltingly. 

That first session about Rogers he goes into detail about their first meeting, about the dislike Steve bore for him upon first glance. Mentions how it was partially his own fault, because the anger from Howard’s constant measuring stick wasn’t as resolved as he’d thought. 

“After the wormhole, that’s when he stopped being so angry with me,” Tony says when he’s asked. “He kissed me for the first time after I came back from the AIM incident with Killian. Said if I ever scared him like that again he’d kill me.” Isn’t that some crazy foreshadowing or irony or something? (He is not sure, English has always, and will likely always be, his worst subject.) “We were happy, for a while. Or I thought we were.” He cuts himself off there, unable to talk about their lazy Sunday mornings, the times they hid from the paparazzi while out to get Steve to try new foods, or the vacations to sunny beaches and cloudy cities. Partly because those are private moments, but mostly they just hurt now. Thinking about them makes it all the more real, reminds him this isn’t just a bad dream. 

Tony feels heavy after that, like he can barely trudge along back to the car waiting for him. He goes home, flops with no grace onto the sofa, and curls up under piles of blankets and doesn’t move for hours. Rhodey brings him a snack and a glass of water, settles in on another couch; Harley, Peter, and Vision file into the room as well. They watch animated movies for the rest of the night. 

The next session is different, while the subject remains the same. These are no longer soft recollections of a love gone by, but the sour echoes of a broken relationship. 

“It is kind of telling, isn’t it?” Tony smirks, bitter and brittle and angry. “That he hated whenever anyone praised me, especially the media. Hated seeing my name anywhere near the headlines for doing something good. How he desperately wanted me out of the field, all to himself, constantly. Hindsight really is a bitch.” He chuckles, the sound almost as tired as he is. “I bet he regrets ever touching me now.” 

“Noticing red flags is difficult sometimes, particularly in situations in which you’re already close to the person or said person is seen to be moral and good,” Dr. Ghafa says, patient as ever. “Why do you think Mr. Rogers would regret being with you?”

That draws a sharp smile out of Tony. “Everything he’s ever done regarding me is immortalized and in the public. It’ll live on forever, whether he wants it to or not.” God knows Tony doesn’t want it to, but then again he was never ashamed of Steve. Not even now, no, now he’s ashamed of himself. “Wherever we go it’s always going to follow us.” 

She nods like she understands. “What was your relationship like leading up to the Civil War?” 

“After Ultron,” Tony begins, shuddering at the memory, “Rogers rarely let me out of his sight. I wasn’t allowed on missions whatsoever—I wasn’t even an Avenger at the time—or in my lab without supervision. Even then, I was relegated to updating their tactical gear, weapons, that kind of thing. I was practically their pet engineer.” Even when Tony tried to argue, make them see that there was a threat bigger and badder out there, his worries got dismissed. 

“Steve was going on his Barnes tracking missions regularly. The little times in between those he’d come home from his ‘HYDRA’ assignments. He’d hold me and whisper about our future and tell me how much he loved me. The worst part is, I believed him, like the idiot I-”

Dr. Ghafa cuts him off gently but firmly, “No, you weren’t an idiot. You were lied to and manipulated in order for Mr. Rogers to achieve his goals. That is in no way your fault.” 

A clock ticks as Tony lets that sink in. As much as he leans towards blaming himself, he can't negate that it's a logical argument. (He hates logic sometimes.)

They move on from there, and he goes home feeling surprisingly light. 

***

  
  


He’s sitting at the kitchen counter scrolling through company plans and schedules on his tablet when the boys, all three of them, ask if he’ll help them bake cookies. Apparently, cooking and baking are excellent activities for his mental health, it gives him something to do that occupies his brain when he’s anxious, and being good at it doesn’t hurt. 

“FRIDAY, my best girl, do we have the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies?”

“Why don’t you look for yourself, boss?” 

“Who taught you to sass me?” Tony asks, scowling playfully at the nearest camera. 

“You did, when you coded me.” Her tone sounds dry, and he takes a moment to appreciate how much she’s grown in the short time she’s been able to. “Yes, you have all the ingredients to make cookies, as long as no one eats all the chocolate chips as you go along.” 

Tony turns his eyes to Harley, points an accusing finger at him. “That’s your only warning, _cucciolo.”_

“Puppies can’t eat chocolate,” Harley points out.

“You know what that means?”

“You call me it often enough, figured I better learn. You call Abbie-”

“ _Patatina.”_

“Right,” Harley finishes, “‘little potato’. Thought that’d be more fitting for me.” The nickname may seem like it fits Harley better on the surface, but Tony had met Abbie when she was just four years old, cheeks adorably chubby and feet bumbling clumsily across the wooden floors of the Keener house. 

Huffing a laugh at the memory, Tony pulls down all the ingredients and measuring cups they’ll need. He directs Vision to the mixing bowls and Peter to the utensils. 

As they’re rolling the cookie dough into balls, Peter speaks up. “So was anyone gonna tell me that Mr. Stark speaks Italian?” 

Tony grins. “I speak a lot of languages, kid.” 

“Why don’t I get an Italian endearment?” Peter pouts, big eyes pleading with Tony with a practiced ease. 

“We’ll see, spiderling.” He’s one hundred percent not already dredging through a mental checklist of nicknames he could call Peter. Nope, certainly not. 

They finish placing the balls of cookie dough on the pan, and Tony allows Harley to place it in the oven after excessive begging. Vision sets the timer on the stove while Peter bounces energetically on the balls of his feet.

Once that’s done, all of them collapse onto the seats around the counter. 

The cookies come out delicious, no surprise there. When Pepper comes up to see that they’ve likely spoiled their dinner by eating so many of the treats and she chews them out, they reach a mutual consensus that it was worth it. 

As they settle in for dinner—which Happy’s cooking tonight, thank God—Tony thinks he’s finally found a place where he can just be. 

Or perhaps he’d just forgotten where, exactly, his place is. 

***

In the following sessions with Dr. Ghafa, Tony works through his guilt about attacking Barnes. How the man is technically innocent, and while Rogers may have deserved a few hits, Barnes didn’t. Then his guilt over bringing Peter, a literal child, into the fight. And back to Siberia and how Tony had been the one to throw the first punch. 

Coming to terms with the fact that he had acted out of grief, that Rogers should’ve subdued him and not fought back, especially not to the extent of force he had used, had been a difficult task. He is struggling with these things still, grappling with accepting the logic of Dr. Ghafa’s words over the technicalities his brain likes to hold onto, but not as badly. 

Summer draws to a close, and he finds that it makes him all the more anxious. Dr. Ghafa notices, if her raised eyebrow is anything to go by.

“The kids are going home soon,” he offers, hands fidgeting with his pant leg in as inconspicuous a manner as he can manage. 

Dr. Ghafa nods patiently, encouragingly. “How does that make you feel?”

The question forces an involuntary scoff out of his mouth, but he answers anyway. “Sad. Scared.”

“Scared how?”

That stumps him for a second. Then, “Maybe it’s more like paranoid. Like the second they’re out of my sight Rogers is going to go after them next.” Which is illogical, but his brain isn't the best at determining what qualifies as logical these days. 

“That’s understandable, seeing as you care deeply for these boys and he nearly killed you in Siberia. The obvious conclusion that your brain would connect with that is that he could do the same to anyone, and thinking it’ll be those you love isn’t uncommon. But that’s not the case. The Rogues are not here, not even in this country. If they were, you would know. They’re no threat to you or Harley or Peter.”

Steve had tried to kill him. To _kill_ him. 

It’s the first time Tony truly lays out the truth of that statement to himself.

But the boys are safe, even if he’s still anxious about their leaving. On top of that, Tony is safe, in a way that he hasn’t felt in quite a long time. 

Strange. 

***

Tony has a routine. He goes to therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays, holds press conferences, helps run his company, works on getting Ross thrown in jail, and he spends as much time as possible with his family. The structure is something he never knew he craved. 

In between those duties, he rebuilds the Avengers. 

It’s not something he set out to do; it especially wasn’t anywhere near his agenda after the betrayal the last Avengers had put him through. 

Nevertheless, the New Avengers are born. (Lame name if you ask anyone in their ragtag family, but it’s what the people are familiar with.) 

It starts with Hope van Dyne, who waltzes straight into the lobby while Tony’s on his way to Research Lab 1 from Pepper’s office. “I would like to schedule a meeting with Dr. Stark please, if that’s possible,” he overhears her say politely to the secretary.

He can see the secretary prepare to go on his regular spiel about how busy Tony is, so he hustles over to the front desk. Lightly, he claps a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hey Mateo, how were your summer courses?”

“They were good, Mr. Stark,” Mateo answers, smiling. “Easy, mostly.” 

Tony smiles back. “That’s good to hear, you let me know about your schedule this fall, yeah?” He turns towards the person across the desk. “Pleasure to meet you in person, Ms. van Dyne,” he says cordially. 

“I’m sure,” she replies, and while the words themselves are smug, her tone is far from it. 

“How about you accompany me up to one of the private conference rooms and I’ll see what I can do for you, hm?” Tony suggests. A dip of her chin. He gestures for her to walk with him. Halfway to the elevator, he glances at his phone to see a text from Rhodey with a photo of the kitchen which appears to be in disarray, to put it nicely. Sighing, Tony turns to his companion and asks, “So there’s been a… shall we say mishap, and I’m needed in the penthouse. Is it alright if we have our conversation there?” 

“Whatever works best,” she says, easygoing and accepting. The old team—not implying that there’s a new one—never took any of his suggestions, even the minor ones like this, so well or with as much trust. 

They reach the penthouse, Tony immediately going to berate Harley for making a gargantuan mess of the kitchen. Pots and pans strewn about, the bowl that normally rests in the center of the counter tipped over and spilling fruit onto the floor.

“This one might actually be my fault?” Peter says, phrasing it as a question. 

Tony raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “How’s that, _gattino_?” 

Peter’s cheeks dust with pink at the endearment, and he turns his head away without responding. 

“How’s this your fault?”

Hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, Peter smiles sheepishly. “I was demonstrating how my webshooters work.” In the background, Tony is aware of Rhodey and Harley laughing without a care. He is so going to get them for this.

Running a hand over his face tiredly, Tony says with acceptance, “You made the mess by trying to swing inside?” 

“Um maybe?” He gives a helpless little shrug. 

_Kids, honestly._ “Clean it up, please. There’s no broken glass anywhere?” 

“No, Mr. Stark, no glass,” Peter answers dutifully.

At the same time, Rhodey decides to contribute to the conversation. “You’re such a dad.” Tony flips him off. He hears van Dyne try to smother a laugh with a cough. 

Turning to face his guest once again, he motions to the sitting area. “Shall we?” 

To her credit, Hope van Dyne doesn’t dawdle, diving right into what she came to talk about as soon as they’re seated. “I want to help with the cost of the airport in Leipzig. And then I want to join the Avengers Initiative, I’ll go through whatever tests are in place.”

“Okay,” Tony says slowly, “why?”

“Because it was our technology—the Ant Man suit—that aided in the massive destruction of property. In addition to that, we want to make it clear that we don’t support Scott Lang or his actions, and that we firmly believe in accountability.”

That he understands. This is her way of holding herself accountable for the damage that her suit and trust in Lang resulted in. So, he shrugs. “Fine, you can foot some of the bill if you want. As for the Avengers, we didn’t really have any entrance exams. I intend to remedy that, now that it’s been brought to my attention how idiotic the previous method of joining was. Soon as that’s sorted, you’re welcome to give it a go.” 

There’s an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips when she answers, “Sounds like a plan, Dr. Stark. I look forward to working with you in the future.” 

***

Tony complains for a good fifteen minutes the next time he sees his therapist (and maybe at intervals between talking about other subjects). He’s certain that Dr. Ghafa has had it with his constant stream of “Can you believe that we used to just go around collecting enhanced people? With no mental or physical screening! And it didn’t even matter how much other members protested any new additions, they had to suck it up even if it was traumatic. I was the only one that they ever had a problem with and got an evaluation, and not even from a trained professional. God, what a mess.” 

***

Peter and Harley leave, the looming school year growing nearer. The three of them and Rhodey, who is still staying with Tony at the Tower, video chat every Friday, sometimes more than once in a week if someone asks. They laugh and talk and make childish facial expressions. It’s not as domestic as having them there, but it’s something and it eases some of his anxieties. 

Dr. Ghafa cuts Tony’s appointments to once a week, stating he’s made a fair amount of progress in the past three months. He’s getting better. Yeah, he still has issues—piles of them, really; Howard’s less than impressive parenting techniques, the panic attacks caused almost every time he hears the clang of metal hitting something, Extremis, the fact that he’s become a pseudo father to two teenage boys, all of the trust issues Rogers enhanced—but he’s getting there. 

That’s important. 

***

“Mr. Stark I met a super cool wizard on patrol today!”

Tony hums absentmindedly, the words not quite registering as he reviews the company’s profit and which departments he’s going to allocate more money to. 

“His name is Dr. Strange and he’s got these glowing hand thingies-” 

“Hold on, did you say Dr. Strange?” Tony demands.

Peter looks at him oddly through the computer screen, but nods in affirmation nonetheless. “Yeah.”

“And you said he’s a wizard?” He takes on a contemplative face, not sure he believes that a person of science could turn to some weird life of magic. Must be another Strange, then. Regardless, Tony still finds himself wondering if maybe they are the same Dr. Strange and, if so, when in the hell that could’ve happened. 

“Mhm. Mr. Stark are you okay? Your face looks funny.” 

“Fine, kid. Say, did this wizard dude give you a first name by any chance?” 

“No,” Peter says, visibly confused. 

Tony hums. “Alright, I need to make a quick call and then we’ll jump into your suit upgrade ideas.” He heads to the hallway, phone already in hand, but turns last second to call “Eat a snack!” at Peter, who rolls his eyes but makes a show of opening the fridge in his apartment. 

Once in his rarely used home office, Tony connects a video call with Strange and goes ahead and patches himself through when the line rings just this side of too long. (What, he’s got the skills and he feels it’s the least Strange can allow him for not telling him that he’s an actual wizard straight out of Hogwarts.) 

“What is it you need?” The voice on the other end of the line sounds strained, busy. There are flashes of what’s likely magic being thrown around, a few other magic users in the background. 

Tony is as cheery as always. “Hello to you, too, Harry Potter.” 

“What are you on about?” Strange turns his head to the phone, scowl twisting his features. 

“Please don’t let me distract you from whatever battle of great wizarding heights you’re currently embarking on.” Tony waves his hands as if to encompass Strange and his predicament on the other side of the phone. 

A put upon sigh that could rival Rhodey’s escapes Strange. “Get to the point,” Strange says, and at Tony’s disapproving tut adds a resigned, “please.” 

“Since you asked so nicely. A certain spider told me he ran into a magic man that happens to have the name Dr. Strange. So I thought to myself, why, I know a Dr. Strange, but surely they couldn’t be the same person. Lo and behold it is the same person; iconic surgeon Stephen Strange, your common everyday witch.” 

“Sorcerer.” 

“Semantics,” Tony declares, eyes rolling skyward. He twists a pen between his fingers. “Wanna join the Avengers?” That’s definitely not part of what he had planned when he came in here for this call—okay, in all fairness, he didn’t really plan at all. Thus, he can’t be held accountable. 

“There’s no longer an Avengers team, as far as I can remember. At least, not much of one.”

Tony nods, acknowledging. “We’re… expanding,” he decides, “rebuilding. All that jazz. Anyway, there’s tests, mental and physical. That kind of thing. You in?” He gets shocked silence as an answer. “Awesome, I’ll be in touch to schedule your evaluations. Good luck with your fight.” Tony grins, waving like a schoolkid as he clicks off the call. 

***

A portal, one of Stephen’s, opens into Tony’s workshop and drops Loki literally into his lap. 

Tony sighs, standing quickly to throw Loki off of him. “What in the hell are you doing here? Thor said you died.” 

Loki spreads his arms magnanimously. “Obviously I didn’t.” 

Shaking his head, Tony considers pressing for more information. Ultimately, he decides it’s not worth it. He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Alright. Wanna be an Avenger?” There's a manic grin taking over his face. 

“What kind of preposterous question is that?” 

“One of the yes or no variety,” Tony shoots back. “You were brainwashed, right? For New York?” 

Loki raises a delicate eyebrow. “If I was, how would you know?” 

“First, your plan was shit and easy to read. Second, your eyes are green.” 

The god looks like he’s on the verge of strangling him. Again. Whatever, that was technically fair game because they were enemies. “How is my eye color of any consequence in this matter, mortal?” 

A snarky god, Tony can appreciate that. “Aw Lokes, don’t tell me you didn’t know your gorgeous greens turned to mind control blue during your little escapade? Here I thought you were more intelligent than your brother.” 

The truly vicious snarl that receives is almost intimidating. “Stupid mortal, comparing me to that oaf. I-“ 

“You sound like Draco Malfoy.” 

“I beg your pardon.” 

“Come on, bambi, I’ll write your name in for the Avengers evaluations and then we’ll watch _Harry Potter_. Oh, I’m sure Vision and Rhodey will join us!” 

***

This becomes his life. 

He goes to therapy, talks to his favorite people in the world, revises the Accords (without Ross who has recently been incarcerated), makes alliances with up and coming vigilantes and superheroes. 

And he breathes. Finally, finally breathes. 

***

Mid-October finds Tony coming home to the penthouse after an excruciatingly long meeting with the board. More than anything, he wants to eat a tub of ice cream and curl up on the couch with Rhodey until he drifts to sleep. 

When does he ever get what he wants, though? 

Rhodey is pacing the floor of the living room, gait smoother than it had been six months ago. 

“Platypus,” Tony exclaims, “just the guy I was looking for.” 

Slowly, Rhodey’s steps come to a halt. He turns on his heel to face Tony, expression grim. 

“Tones-“ 

“Nuh uh.” Tony waggles his finger at him. “That looks suspiciously like your bad news face. It better not be your bad news face.” Everything about him—posture, expression, tone of voice—leads one to believe he’s calm, joking. Deep down, though, Tony’s pleading for nothing to be wrong. He’s not sure he can deal with something going awry, not when he’s just on the cusp of, of _something_. 

“The Accords Council made a decision, under strong influence from the president. They still have to work out all the details, it could take... it could take months.” The more he talks the more it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. 

Tony shakes his head, eyes wide. It’s only been six months. He’s only had six months to heal, to reach some level of normalcy.

“They’re bringing them back, Tones.” 

Knees giving out, Tony forgets what oxygen feels like entering his lungs. He hears Rhodey shout but he can’t make out any meaning. Curling in on himself, he begins to rock back and forth, the movement comforting. His limbs are still shaking but maybe if he wraps his arms tight enough around his knees it’ll be enough to keep him together. There are words leaving his mouth, not that he knows what they are, only that he's saying them. 

All he can think about is that they’re coming back. They’re coming back and they’re going to finish him off and then Rhodey and Pepper and the _kids_ \- “No, no, please. Please, God, no.” The shield and the arm and oh red, red magic weaving into his very being-

“-ala. Tones, I need you to nod if you can hear me.” 

Tony’s sobbing persists, but he manages a shaky nod. 

“Good, that’s good. Can I touch you?” 

Four vehement shakes of the head. 

“That’s alright,” Rhodey says soothingly, “I need you to count your breaths with me now. Okay. Breathe in through your nose with me for one, two, three, four. Now hold it for one, two, three, four. Exhale; one, two, three, four.” 

The steps work to relax him slightly, shoulders losing a bit of their tension, but it's not enough. The panic grips him tightly, unwilling to let him go just yet. 

“We’re gonna do it again.” 

They go through the same process six more times, until Tony is no longer shaking and sobbing. Instead, he is overcome by an aching tiredness. He feels the weight of his bones acutely, like they’re going to drag him through the floor and to the gates of hell.

But there’s Rhodey, looking at him worriedly. “What do you need?” Tony doesn't deserve him, not at all.

He glances aimlessly about the room, back to Rhodey. “Bed,” he croaks, voice hoarse from, well, everything. 

Rhodey nods. “Bed it is.” He pulls Tony off the floor and let’s him lean into his shoulder as they head to Tony’s bedroom. 

Opening the door, Tony comes close to collapsing onto the bed but Rhodey clicks his tongue at him gently. He forces Tony into comfortable clothes, because suits are not meant to be slept in. (Tony doesn't see the problem, he's crashed in his fancy clothes many times after staying awake for entirely too long. That's not something he's going to tell Rhodey if he wants to remain in his friend’s good graces, though.) 

Reaching over, he pulls the plush throw blankets back to allow Tony access, smiling a bit when Tony falls in willingly. Tucking him in, Rhodey presses a kiss to his forehead and turns to leave, but Tony’s hand catches his. 

“Stay,” Tony whispers, eyes closed, “Please.” 

So he does. 

***

“Tony,” Harley’s saying into the phone, “Tony are you alright?” 

_No,_ he thinks, _no definitely not._

“The Rogues are coming back.” He says it without inflection, face wiped clean of any telling expression like he’d learned so long ago. It wouldn’t do to make the kids worry about him. 

The reaction is immediate. Surprisingly, Peter’s voice drowns out Harley’s. 

“That’s bullshit!” 

“Language, _gattino,_ ” Tony chides. Their guardians are not going to let Tony near them if they go around spouting words like that. 

“No, this is utterly stupid,” Peter insists. 

Harley nods his assent. “Do you need us to come back?” 

“Absolutely not. Neither of you is coming within viewing range of the Compound. And that’s saying something because the thing is huge. Not while they’re there.” 

“The Compound?” 

“Yeah. Accords Council wanted all of us to live together, cited something about unity or togetherness, and I said I refuse to house them in my own home. Especially because this place is you guys’ home as well.” 

The Tower isn't going to be infiltrated by careless assholes who are willing to murder him or be complicit in his murder. Not if he has anything to say about it, which he does. 

Harley, the little shit, grins. “Aw, you care,” he sing-songs. 

Tony rolls his eyes but he’s grinning back albeit in a more subdued manner. 

“The government is fixing up the, you know, giant hole in the Compound. And then they’re crafting individual specific pardons for everyone on ‘Team Cap’,” he says, fingers curling around the words. “May take a while, but it’s happening.” 

“Okay,” Peter says, “is Spider-Man going to need to make some appearances?” 

“Kid, what did I just say about you going anywhere near them?” 

Peter doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. “If we can’t watch out for you, we’ll…” he trails off, obviously unsure of where to end that sentence. 

An excited snap of the fingers breaks the amused silence. “We’ll send Pepper and Happy,” Harley informs him smugly. 

“Exactly!” Peter agrees. “And Mr. Loki is moving with you, right?” 

Loki, who’s been staying at the Tower, is also making the move out to the Compound. Tony hasn’t the faintest as to why, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’ll do anything to not be alone with his old team. 

Tony nods to answer the kid’s question. 

“Rhodey’s going to be there, too, obviously,” Harley says, as if it’s a basic fact of life, “So you won’t be alone.” Smiling at the concern in Harley’s voice, Tony nods again. 

Rhodey is going to be there, keeping him sane and out of trouble and safe. Like he always is. So perhaps it is a fact of life, that Rhodey will be with him. 

No, he won’t be alone. Never again. 

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! thanks for reading :)


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